


Probie's Panic

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [47]
Category: NCIS
Genre: !!! part 50!, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Dark, Dissociation, Episode: s03e10 Probie, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Sexual Age Play, Papa Bear Jethro Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: When McGee finds out that he killed an undercover cop, things get a little hinky in the family.





	Probie's Panic

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, wow! Part fifty in a series I never had any serious intention of making! That's _awesome_! Second of all, I'm really sorry this is so dark. But I felt it needed to be done. This was how I saw everyone's characters behaving, and so this is where I went with it.

Timmy didn't know how he had gotten home after the director had ordered him to stand down, exactly. What he did know was that he was sitting in the middle of his living room, his record player in front of him with fresh batteries, and it was playing _Hickory Dickory Dock_. It was a little bit unsettling sitting in the silence when he was little, so he liked putting on his record player. That and watching it go around and around and around was comforting. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, looking at the caller ID. It was Papa. He pressed the call button and put the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

There was no response for a second, before the sound of a door closed and Papa stage-whispered, "Timmy? You okay, kiddo?"

"Nnn...no," Timmy said. "But 'm at home. An' I have my records. So I will be."

"Timmy, the last time you tried to feel better by listening to your records you dissociated for two hours. That's not healthy. Do you need me to come over?"

It would be nice, Timmy thought to himself, but Papa had better things to do. "Uh-uh."

"Why don't I believe that?" Papa asked.

Timmy pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed into them, shaking his head. "Papa, 'm gonna be okay. Promise."

Papa was reluctant to answer, Timmy could tell by the way his breathing got heavier like he was angry but didn't say anything. "Tony and I are gonna come over the second work's done, okay?"

Well, if they were done that meant that Timmy wouldn't be stopping them from doing more important things, so that was reasonable. "Mhm."

"Don't do anything that might hurt you in the meantime," Papa told him. "I love you."

"Mhm..." Timmy hummed, pulling his phone away from his ear and disconnecting the call. He put the phone on the floor and rested his chin on his knees. He wound up the record player and let the sound wash over him as his brain checked out...

"Timmy? Hey, Timmy, c'mon, snap out of it," a soft voice said.

The boy blinked several times. When he looked to his right, DiNozzo was crouched on his heels and was shaking Timmy's shoulder. He visibly relaxed when Timmy looked over. "Geez, kid, Gibbs wasn't lying when he said it was scary when you blank out on everyone. What have you been doing?"

"Um..." Timmy thought about it. He could barely remember checking his phone for the time a couple times, and rewinding the record player. "Music. Clock."

"You listened to music and checked the time?" DiNozzo translated.

Timmy nodded.

"Anything else?" DiNozzo asked.

Timmy shook his head. He hadn't even really moved. Where was Papa? He said that they were going to come over when they were done with work, and obviously he had brought DiNozzo, but where was Papa himself? "Papa?" he asked.

"Checking your bedroom," DiNozzo said. "He saw you staring into space and freaked out."

Timmy stood up, guilt overriding his need to stay still. He roamed into his room to find Papa standing by his bed, examining his pillows. "Papa?" Timmy asked.

Papa looked over and relaxed when he saw him. "Timmy," he breathed, walking over and hugging the boy. "Are you okay? You were dissociating when we got here."

"'M okay," Timmy said, rocking from foot to foot.

Papa looked Timmy from head to toe. "You said that, and proceeded to dissociate, _again_. Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Timmy faltered. Was Papa mad at him? It was bad enough that everyone thought he had shot that undercover cop on purpose...It was even worse if the very person who was trying to advocate for him was now angry because of something he couldn't even control.

"Kiddo?" Papa asked. "I'm not mad at you. I'm frustrated I couldn't be here sooner; the Director held us all up with a lecture about how we weren't supposed to get involved with your case."

Those words made Timmy feel sick. _Your case_. He had shot someone and he was under investigation for it. He hadn't even wanted to shoot him. But he had, and now he had to face the consequences. "Was bad with the case," Timmy mumbled into the floor.

"You weren't bad," Papa said firmly. "You did exactly what you were supposed to and no one can hold you at fault for following the rules and regulations."

"Shot a good guy," Timmy said, voice going watery.

"Hey, ssh, ssh," Papa soothed. "Baby boy, you didn't know. He was holding a gun. You did everything exactly the way you were supposed to. He didn't identify himself, he didn't follow directions, _he's_  the one at fault here, not you."

"They're gonna say I killed him, Papa. On purpose," Timmy said, sniffling and hugging his arms. "I only was doing my job. I didn' want to hurt him, Papa, I promise!"

"I know, kiddo, I know," Papa assured, hugging Timmy tightly and rocking him from foot to foot. "You're not to blame here."

Timmy shook his head and sobbed. "I _killed_  him!" he wailed.

"Ssh, ssh," Papa repeated. "Ssh. Breathe, kiddo, remember to breathe."

Timmy tried, he tried _so hard_ , but he couldn't breathe like Papa wanted, and he couldn't be quieter than too loud, and he couldn't get that awful night out of his head, replaying over and over and over like a broken record, changing every time he saw it.

But Papa just continued to hold him and sway him from side to side, shushing him gently with assurances that it was okay, he was allowed to cry. Timmy didn't agree, but he couldn't stop, and he wasn't going to convince Papa to punish him for crying. Not when he had killed a man instead. "Was b-bad," Timmy said.

"No, no you're not, baby boy. You're not bad, you never _have_  been bad. You've been nothing but sweet and gentle for two years. Your reaction shows who you really are, kiddo, and this reaction means that you're nothing but good," Papa murmured.

Timmy shook his head violently. "No, Papa!"

Papa sighed and held Timmy tighter. "I know you don't think so, baby boy, but you are so, _so_  good. You didn't even do anything against the rules."

Timmy pulled away from Papa and hugged his arms. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't like the thought of it one bit. He went to his closet, pulled out the belt he kept next to his record player, and held it out to Papa. Papa looked confused beyond belief for one...two seconds. And then just as fast as the confusion had appeared, it melted to anger. He ripped the belt from Timmy's hands and threw it on the bed. "Timothy Farragut McGee, I am _not_  belting you. Ever. For _any_  reason. And certainly not for following the rules."

And that sentence took far too long to sink into Timmy's head. But when it did, he broke down. That wasn't supposed to happen, that's not how this _worked!_  Papa hadn't punished him with swats or beltings before, but this was _different_. This time, he had gone too far and the damage couldn't be undone. He was supposed to get hurt now. That's how this happened, it's how it had been for as long as he could remember. Papa couldn't just ignore the rules whenever he felt like it!

Papa watched him, not letting anything show on his face as he said, "Timmy, use your words. What's wrong?"

The words were getting caught in his throat. He _knew_  what he wanted to say, he knew _how_  to say it, he just couldn't _actually_  say it! He pointed to the bed.

Papa shook his head. "Kiddo, I'm not going to belt you. Ever. For any reason. I've told you this before, and I'll say it again and again until you understand."

"That's...that's not--!" Timmy protested. He could barely believe he was actually _advocating_  for his father's form of punishment, but this wasn't just any old infraction. "That's not how this works," Timmy whispered.

Papa took a step forward. "How does it work?" he asked.

Timmy swallowed. "I...I do a bad thing. And I come to my room, and you take the belt, and you hit me until you think I've learned my lesson. That's...that's how it works. And...and I did a bad thing. And it can't be...can't be undone. I didn't mean to, but I did, and I need to be punished!"

Papa didn't respond, just looked Timmy over. "No," he eventually said.

Timmy sniffled and wiped at his eyes. "No?" he asked.

"No," Papa repeated. "That's not how this works. You followed orders. You have to live with what you did, but until you come to terms with it, Tony and I will be here to support you. Nowhere in this do you get the belt. Nowhere. In fact," he grabbed Timmy's shoulders and directed him out of the bedroom. "We are not going to be in your room if you associate that with being hurt and punishment."

Timmy broke down crying again. He tried to resist Papa's movements, but he was pushed out into the living room and onto his couch. "Tony, start up the record player?" Papa requested.

Tony nodded from where he was sitting on the floor and playing with a pacifier in his hands. _Hickory Dickory Dock_  filled the room once more. Timmy sniffled and rubbed at his eyes desperately. Maybe if he acted like he was strong enough to receive punishment, Papa would change his mind.

Papa moved away but told Tony, "Make sure he doesn't go in his room, Tony, he has bad things in there I don't want him touching."

Tony's eyes widened almost comically and he nodded with all the seriousness of a soldier.

Something inside Timmy snapped, and suddenly he wasn't in his apartment, he wasn't even in the year of two-thousand and six. He was nine years old, being told to sit on the couch in the living room until his father could "have a talk with him" in his room. Sarah had been told to find Dad and let him know if Timmy had moved from the couch. And he wasn't going to have it. "If you're gonna hit me, get it over with already!" he yelled.

Someone squeaked in surprise and someone else was speaking quietly, just low enough that Timmy couldn't hear. Timmy stood from the couch, hands balled into fists at his sides. "If you're gonna do it, Dad, just do it! I'm not gonna sit out here on display just so you can make me squirm a little when I know what's coming!"

Then there were words loud enough for him to hear that didn't make any sense to him. "Papa, he's never called you Dad before..."

"I don't think he's yelling at me, Tony. More yelling at a memory."

"But...but why would he be yelling to get hit? It doesn't make any sense..."

"Tony...he got hit when he was younger."

"..."

"He wants it over with. He doesn't understand that I'm not going to hit him. He's trying to cope, but he doesn't know how. We just have to let him calm down."

"...He...got hit?"

"Yeah."

"On...purpose?"

"...Yeah."

Then something-or someone-had tackled him in a hug that pushed him back on the couch. Timmy wasn't sure if he should be thrashing away or sitting still to wait it out, so he didn't stiffen but he didn't roll out of the hug either. And the weight brought him back to his apartment, and he looked around in confusion. He looked down to find Tony gripping his chest in a vice. "Tony?"

"You didn' deserve to get hit," the boy mumbled into his chest. "No one does. But 'specially not you."

Timmy blinked, bringing one hand up to pat Tony's back. "I...I did a bad thing, though..."

"No you didn't!" Tony protested. "Don't say that! You did everything right! He didn't identify himself! He didn't listen! If you waited, _you_  could have been the one dead! And I don't want you dead! No one's gonna hit you for making sure you're alive!"

Timmy shook his head. "But...but he was alive. And now he's not. And it's because I shot him. I hurt him bad enough that he _died_. That's _bad_."

"You were protecting yourself and protecting us and protecting the Admiral we were looking after! There's nothing bad about that!" Tony protested.

"But we didn't need protection!" Timmy argued.

"You didn't know that!" Tony shot back. "At work when you're big you only have a few seconds to make decisions sometimes. You were making sure everyone we were protecting was all right. You made the right choice. And sometimes the right choice isn't the easiest, and it hurts more people. But it's still the _right_  choice. You can't deny that."

Timmy's lib wobbled. "I...I didn't mean to kill him..."

Papa walked over and sat down next to Timmy, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "We know. Do you?"

Timmy hesitated. Everyone was saying it was the right thing to do. And he wished that the man could have come out the other side alive, but there was nothing they could do to fix that; not even a belting could undo what happened. But when he had aimed at the man, he hadn't aimed to kill. He was looking at the heart but to be honest his aim was almost always way off. He was surprised he had hit the mark. He hadn't wanted to kill the man; his shot was supposed to be angled as a warning shot, something to get the man to drop his gun from, not a lethal bullet. He nodded. "I know."

"Tell everyone that and you'll be just fine," Papa assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Timmy nodded more confidently than he felt. The scene was still playing over and over in his mind, and he wasn't sure that by tomorrow he would still be convinced he hadn't done it on purpose.


End file.
